


The Women I Love

by josiepug



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Episode s02e06, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiepug/pseuds/josiepug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two chapters, two women, two potential futures for Tommy. Written for a prompt from Juliana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Women I Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliana/gifts).



> In the first chapter, Tommy ends up with May. In the second, he will end up with Grace. How both situations could have played out.

He should call Grace, assuming she had gone back to her hotel after the races. To her husband. Thomas Shelby tried to gloss over that part in his mind, but it kept sticking. That was why he needed to talk to her. That and a million other reasons. The baby. May. A grave in an empty field and a red right hand. He needed to talk to Grace.

But as he sat there in his office, his body exhausted from a day that had so nearly been his last, with Michael across from him, all naiveté, pretending to like the taste of whiskey, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted to marry her. He knew that. Had known it since she had sang to him in the old Garrison all those years ago. When she had nearly made him smile. He needed to talk to her.

Something was holding him back. Tommy Shelby would never have admitted to fear, not even to himself, but there was a hesitation. Perhaps he was just tired. That was it. There was so much still to do. He hadn’t even spoken to Polly about today, about Campbell. He wasn’t looking forward to it. And whatever it was that Winston Churchill wanted out of him, it couldn’t be anything good. No one hired criminals to promote the public good, especially not the government. 

In the silence, Michael grew fidgety. “Go on then, join the party,” Tommy said, indicating the door beyond which the first signs of what was sure to be a long night of merriment could be heard.

Michael stood up eagerly. “Aren’t you coming too? We won today.” 

Tommy shook his head, and didn’t smile. “Not tonight. I have business to attend to. You go have fun.” Michael left, looking only slightly perplexed that Tommy would choose to get started on his ‘business’ so quickly. Tommy tried to remember the last time any day had felt like a win. He was coming up blank. He poured himself a glass of whisky. He needed to talk to Grace.

It was fully dark and raining by the time he set off. He probably should have called her hotel or at the very least taken the car. But he didn’t want to ask for her husband’s room again and after this afternoon’s trip at gunpoint, a car didn’t seem too appealing either. 

It was a long walk from Tommy’s lodgings to the part of town where Grace’s husband had rented a hotel room. By the time he got there, he was soaked to the skin, but he felt cleaner than he had in hours. Like the grave dirt was being washed away. He felt lighter and even, he dared admit, a little bit hopeful. He waited in the reception area, trying not to drip on the expensive carpets, as the man at the desk rang Grace’s room. 

“Go on up, sir. They’re expecting you,” The receptionist said eventually, beckoning Tommy towards the stairs. He was a little thrown by the plural, but he nodded politely at the man and made his way up, trying not feel the growing knot of apprehension in his stomach.

The door opened before he had a chance to knock. It was Grace. She looked stunning, her shorter hair hanging loose over an elegant silk nightgown, an equally delicate blue robe decorating her shoulders. She frowned at him.

“Get inside, Tommy.” As soon as he had closed the door behind them, she rounded on him. Her voice was low, but intense. “What were you thinking? You’re lucky my husband isn’t home. I said he was, on the phone, so they’d let you up, but God, Tommy, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I was going to marry you,” Tommy drawled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. 

“Tommy—“ Grace began, almost hesitantly.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Tommy cut her off. “You’re going to have a baby. _My_ baby. A little Shelby.” Grace was looking at him, silent, her beautiful eyes impossible to read. “You said you didn’t love him, Grace. That you love me. And you know I love you, that I’ve loved you for years and that when you came back from America—“ He cut himself off. He was rambling. Thomas Shelby did not ramble. He took a deep breath. “What else did you think I would do?” He finished, and tried to calm his racing heart. He stepped nearer to Grace, until they were almost touching. She didn’t back away, but she didn’t move closer either.

She was silent for several moments, looking into his eyes, searching for…something. Finally, she asked, “Where were you after the race?”

Tommy hesitated. He needed to tell her, needed someone else to know. And yet, he glanced down at her stomach, still flat-looking under the silk robe. “There was business.” And he knew she didn’t believe him.

She turned away slightly, running her fingers through her hair. “Your brothers were all at the race, taking care of the gaming licenses.” A beat, and then, “Did you ever find May, after?”

He wasn’t expecting that. “No.”

“Did you go looking?”

“No.”

She was holding onto his shoulder now, looking into his eyes. Tommy Shelby was notorious for being able to hold a stare, but Grace was different. The eye contact hurt. After what seemed like an eternity, she blinked. “I believe you. But you’re still lying to me. What sort of business?”

Tommy hesitated. This was important. Grace needed to know. Winston Churchill needed him to be discreet. Grace had a right to know. Their baby had a right to grow up in safety, free from all of this. A flip of the coin once more.

“It’s nothing. Just business. Don’t worry about it.” He reached for her cheek, but she stepped back, out of range. 

“How can I not, Thomas? It’s our future, all of ours. And if I marry you…”

“It’s not your future,” he said, as firmly as he could, feeling the finality of his words, hating them, knowing how she would interpret them. But he couldn’t do that. Not to her. Winston Churchill and assassinations and the Red Right Hand. These things were not for Grace, and they were not for the baby either. “I can deal with it.” He didn’t expect her to believe him. He didn’t believe himself.

She took another step back and he felt a tugging sensation deep within his chest, willing him to go with her, to bring her back to him. “Don’t worry about it. I love you, Grace. And you love me. You said it, just hours ago. I love you.” 

He didn’t dare look at her face, too afraid to see her reaction. She had a right to be angry, she had a right to demand to know. But he couldn’t tell her. Bookmaking was one thing. This was something else entirely. He couldn’t look at her, so he got down on one knee.

“Marry me, Grace.”

She didn’t answer right away, just brought down her hands to clasp his outstretched ones. Ever so slowly, gently, she pulled him to his feet. Their faces were inches apart, and there were tears running down her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was soft and choked.

“And away it goes, Thomas.”

They stood like that for a long time. Eventually, he backed away, picked up his hat and coat, feeling as if he was moving underwater. Grace was still crying. Tommy had no tears left to shed. There was no fight, no hasty words shouted in anger, no vitriol. He even closed the door gently behind him. 

As Tommy walked back down the slowly drying street, he wondered how something so gentle could have shattered the world.

*******

May Carleton was brushing down Grace’s Secret when he came in. It was easy to tell who it was. Thomas Shelby had a presence about him, a way of asserting control even in spaces over which he had no right. And this one, her stable, certainly should not belong to him. She would have turned on him then and there if it wouldn’t have frightened the horse. So she spoke very calmly.

“Thomas Shelby. Please get the fuck out of my stable before I hit you over the head with that shovel over there. Thank you.” She didn’t look, but she heard him stop walking.

“Do you want to race her again?” She stopped brushing.

“What?” She still refused to turn around.

His voice was quiet, even more modulated than usual. “You heard me. Do you want to race her again?”

May scoffed bitterly. “I thought she was just for show, a distraction while you stole a bit more territory for yourself. A little wink to your lover.”

Thomas didn’t answer. May stared resolutely at Grace’s Secret’s beautiful flank, refusing to look at him until she couldn’t help it. He was standing on the horse’s other side, a brush of his own in hand. “I think we ought to race her. It’d be a waste. Not to.” He started to brush, and neither of them spoke. He left an hour later.

The next day he was back, and they didn’t speak at all, merely took care of Grace’s Secret, brushing her, feeding her, mucking out her stall for a few hours. And the next day, and the next.

They fell into a routine. Every day, after May had put her horse through the paces for the day, he would arrive. May was still angry at Tommy, unspeakably so. But they didn’t speak, so she managed to tolerate his presence. He had used her, had always loved Grace more. If he’d ever loved her at all. She knew this, and she was reminded of it every time she looked at her horse. She was glad she had slapped him, still thought he deserved it. And yet, after a few days, she felt her anger recede enough to spare him a glance every once in awhile.

Grace was no longer with him. She had known that from the moment he had arrived at the stable. If she had stayed, he never would have come back. It was that simple. Thomas looked haunted now. He always had, in his way, but something had changed. There were moments, when he thought she was busy where he would lean up against Grace’s Secret, press his face into her hair. If she didn’t know him, she would have thought he was crying. But his pale eyes were always dry and empty. 

Days turned into weeks, and they began to exchange a few civil words. Mostly about hay and pitchforks and horse shoes. Nothing dangerous. They talked about entering her in a race, about picking a date. One day, nearly two months after their strange routine had begun, May found herself staring into the water trough, watching the goldfish. Thomas was by her side.

“Those little creatures actually do keep the worms away,” she mused, her mind half on other things.

“Didn’t trust me, did you?” Thomas asked wryly. May almost jumped. It didn’t sound like he was really talking about goldfish.

“Should I have?” She didn’t look at him.

“About horses, always.” She was having trouble judging his mood, not that it was ever easy with Thomas Shelby. May, however, decided that she was feeling reckless.

“You spend a lot of money on petrol to visit your horse. Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Shelby?” She could feel the words twist ironically in her mouth, and the moment she said them, she wanted them back. No such luck.

His mouth quirked into what could be called a smile only by the loosest definition. “I’m here for the horse. As I think you know.” If she could use his words, she guessed it was only fair he throw hers back. She hadn't been lying when she had said them. She had come for the horse, but that didn’t change the fact that she had stayed for Thomas Shelby. 

They did not speak again that day. Or the next. It was a full week before either of them broke the silence. 

“Grace’s Secret. What was it, her secret?” May asked, stabbing her pitchfork into the hay in the corner of the filly’s stall.

Thomas’ reply was so quiet that May nearly missed it. “I wish I knew.” 

“Come up to the house for tea.” She didn’t know what made her say it. They had hardly spoken for months. When they had, it had not ended well. Clearly, Thomas didn’t know why she had asked either. He stood frozen for a moment before nodding jerkily, his expression perplexed.

May made the tea herself. She could have called for a maid, but she needed the distraction. Thomas Shelby was standing in her house once more and even though she had invited him in, she couldn’t quite comprehend it.

“So am I forgiven, then?” Thomas asked as he took the tea from her, his head cocked in that frustratingly endearing way of his.

“I don’t know,” May answered with as much dignity as she could muster. “I just offered you tea.”

She was waiting for some witty retort from him, but it never came. He just drank his tea in silence, staring into its brown depths. May wondered what he saw there. 

“You’re a very beautiful woman, May.” Thomas set down his tea cup, his disconcerting eyes fixed upon her intently. May felt herself squirm, trying to calm the warring emotions battling in her system. Residual anger came out first.

“Not pretty enough to be in the owner’s box. Pretty for the stables, maybe, if I stay where I belong.” She knew it sounded petty and childish, but she couldn’t help herself. Thomas frowned.

“It’s not a bad thing to belong with the horses. They’re a hell of a lot more decent than the humans.” He stood up from his chair and moved around the table to sit next to her. His voice was soft. “I have a secret for you. Swear not to tell.”

For a moment, his voice held the ghost of its customary steel, but there was a teasing edge too. May nodded, feeling her throat go dry.

“I belong with the horses too. Doing what I do, I can afford to look the part, to make those people think I belong up with them. Sometimes I believe it too, for awhile. I think that things have changed, that I’ve made something of myself. But then I remember. I’m just one of the horses, no matter what I do.” He took her hand in his own and despite herself, May felt electricity spark at his touch. He was handsome and slick, somehow well pressed even after mucking out the stall. He looked like he could be at home in their opulent surroundings, a tea cup perched daintily on the table. But May looked into those enigmatic eyes and she saw the truth. 

Thomas Shelby was not a gentleman, not even a disreputable one. He was not a rich, ruthless gang boss or a socialite horse owner. He was just a man who had had his heart broken and his mind bent and had done his best to keep those he loved safe even if they never thanked him for it. And May knew what it was like to be heart-broken, to be screwed over by fate, to try to keep going. To keep going by feeding a horse every day, by brushing her, by caring for her even if she was named after a woman that May couldn’t help but hate.

May Carleton could have tried to explain her revelation to Thomas, but she didn’t. All she said was “I know,” and hoped he’d understand the rest. Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but in the next moment, May didn’t care anymore because his lips were on hers and the world melted into the feel of them, two bodies pressed against one another on the drawing room settee, in full view of any curious maids.

May felt him hesitate slightly after a few seconds, start to pull back. She put a hand around the back of his neck and held him there, their foreheads pressed together.

“I will never break your heart,” she whispered fiercely, meaning it with all her own broken heart. 

Thomas Shelby smiled that sad smile of his, still pressed up against her and whispered, “Yes. You will.” But he kissed her again and broken hearts and frayed edges could come back to prey on them another day.

Or maybe, just maybe, they would never come back at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this turned out longer than I was expecting. I imagine the second chapter will be shorter because less set-up is required to get Tommy with Grace.


End file.
